


Like Rebel Diamonds

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, Black Cards, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Community: no_tags, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="no-tags.dreamwidth.org">no_tags</a> for the prompt "Pete/Gabe/Bebe - stars like glitter on lace"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Rebel Diamonds

It ended badly, with words Bebe wasn’t ready to hear slamming into her like hammers that broke down her ego and her image. She ran away and licked her wounds, because no matter what she wanted everyone to believe, she was still a kid.

Running away was her mistake, of course. She’d been told since the beginning that she couldn’t run away, because that’s the one thing Pete would never forgive. But she did, and he didn’t. And that was that.

But that was years ago now, and things have changed. Bebe’s at the Grammy’s, nominated for her blues album, having given up on comparisons to Mariah Carey and being the sweet voice between rap verses. It was a tough decision, because she thought she wanted fame. She was wrong. She should have known that from her time with Pete, but she didn’t, because it was too hard to see past the stars in her eyes. 

Now she’s on the red carpet, getting interviewed like she’s a real artist – which means hardly interviewed at all over the pretty faces of the day – when she sees him. He’s decked out in a tux which looks good on him, his hair mussed, and his eyes as tired as ever. He’s with Gabe, which is who she actually sees first, since he towers over most of the crowd. He’s in a tux as well, having moved past Cobra and into something new that he and Pete concocted and made people realize they needed, no longer pretending he’s got an upper register. It’s a good sound, something new for the post-pop/punk kids who suddenly have kids of their own and jobs that require a tie.

She lingers for a moment, watching them as they walk down the carpet. Pete’s smile still hits her hard, hurts with the sharpness of it. Gabe sees her and nods, the corners of his mouth twisting in the hint of a smile. Gabe doesn’t give up on anyone.

Bebe smiles back and turns away, but she can tell the moment Pete sees her, can feel the weight of his gaze. Something about the way he looks at people has a tangible weight, like he’s drowning and pulling her down with him. She ignores it as best she can, because she can’t look back at him. Fortunately she gets swept up in the crowd moving inside, and it saves her from an awkward conversation or worse.

*

She’s invited to plenty of the after-parties. She’s a pretty face that looks like sin in her dress, but it’s the nomination that actually gets her an invite to _the_ party, the one Entertainment Tonight has been talking all week. The mansion that Beyonce and Jay-Z have rented just for tonight, the one that’s a mix between Disneyland and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The car drops her off, and she recognizes people that she’s only seen in pictures or in wax statues she remembers from when Pete dragged her to Madame Tussaud’s in London. 

Walking like she belongs there is something Bebe’s been practicing since she first stood on her own two feet, so it’s not hard to work the rooms. Champagne spouts from fountains everywhere she looks, and there’s enough food to feed the entire planet. It’s amusing, because she knows how many of the people here won’t eat – all the pretty trophy wives and girlfriends worried about being yesterday’s news when tomorrow’s edition of ‘hot young thing’ hits the stands. She grabs a glass and a plate of what are probably just high-end cocktail weenies and looks around for a good place to look pretty. 

“You should have won.”

She doesn’t choke on the champagne, but it’s a near thing. She lowers the glass and turns her head to where Pete is standing, shoulders hunched and face blank. “It was an honor just to be nominated.”

He snorts a laugh and, for an instant, he’s the Pete she misses fiercely. “Bullshit. Nominations suck. It’s like saying ‘we think you’re good enough’ and then everyone else saying ‘nope, sorry’. I mean, not that you’re not good enough. You’re great.” He smirks, self-deprecating. “I meant to pay you a compliment.”

“You did.” She smiles at him. “You look good.”

“You look amazing. But you always do.” He smiles back, tentative. “Blue’s a good color on you.”

“You look good in black.” She laughs. “God, this is ridiculous, isn’t it? Like we don’t know each other. I’ve seen you in your underwear.”

“That’s nothing. Go on the internet and you can see my dick.”

She takes a sip of champagne to hide her smile and turns so she’s looking directly at him, her shoulder against the wall. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not. Not exactly. I thought...I thought maybe I’d come say hi. Tell you I’m sorry I was an asshole. Am an asshole. Apologize for...being me, I guess.”

“Don’t. I like you. Just like you are. I took it all personally when you told me not to, when you were trying to help me. Said things I shouldn’t have said.” 

“So we were both assholes.” Pete nods and smiles a little bit more. “That doesn’t help as much as you’d think it would.”

“No.” She glances at the gathered crowd in the room and then back at him. “Where’s Gabe?”

“He’s DJ-ing in one of the other rooms for an hour. I’m supposed to meet him at the bar on the roof when he’s done.” He shoves his hands in his pant pockets. “You want to wait with me? Up there?”

“Sure.” She sets her glass and plate down and straightens, and Pete offers her his arm. She glances at it, biting her lower lip for a moment, then takes it. “I can hear the internet rumors already.”

He nods and leads her toward the stairways in the main room. “Nah. They don’t care about me so much anymore.”

“I think they do. I think you just don’t care so much about what they think of you.”

“That would imply growth on my part,” he laughs, heading up to the next landing. “And I’m still the same height I’ve always been.”

*

She’s not really surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. That was one of the things that got her involved in Black Cards in the first place. He was this major music star, and he was just this guy. The kind of guy her dad would call a ‘sad sack’, a basset hound of a guy who looked like he’d be easy to kick to the curb, but who’d keep coming back for more. In fact, it _was_ what her dad called him, and probably a little bit of who Pete is, but he’s also fierce and protective and smart and funny and willing to fight down to blood and bone.

He’s kept track of her, which makes her bow her head, hair falling over her face like she’s Veronica Lake. She had to look her up the first time Pete had called her that, and she’d been flattered and a little confused. She’d tried to kiss him that night, and he’d looked at her in abject terror. It had been the beginning of the end, she realizes now. He wasn’t trying to come onto her. He’d just been helping her find her look, her image. She’d read him wrong, read him like everyone else probably did, and it had hurt him more than he ever said, but she could see it in his eyes.

“How many times a day do you get asked about a Fall Out Boy reunion these days?” She had counted one week, because she was convinced he was bullshitting the numbers, but he hadn’t been. 

“About the same. It died off after a while, but then Joe did an interview where he admitted he was the impetus behind the hiatus, and he missed us. Of course, missing us wasn’t the same as missing me, and I guess I’m still too much of a mess to deal with.” He says it lightly, like it’s a joke, but she knows it’s not. “We haven’t really revisited it for a while. Patrick’s got a couple kids now, so he’s busy with that. And producing. He helped with Gabe’s new thing. It was good to work with him again. Not a single death threat.”

“See? You have grown.”

“Or he knows he can’t follow through. So I haven’t gotten actually annoying enough to kill.” He smiles and this time it’s genuine. “I guess that’s a good sign.” 

“Definitely.” She reaches over on instinct and catches his hand, squeezing it lightly. “How’s the B-man?”

“At the stage where I’m no longer cool, because his friends consider me the cool dad. I’m harshing his mojo. Or something. But he’s great. Amazing, you know? The best thing I’ve ever done.” His face lights up, and it makes something twist inside her. She’s put marriage and family aside for her career, and she doesn’t regret it. Except sometimes when she sees that both actually works out pretty well. “He’s a fan of your stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Or, well, ‘she doesn’t sound as bad as most of the crap you listen to, Dad’. You know. High praise.”

“Well, I am honored.” She smiles and rests her head on her hand, looking at him. “You listen to my stuff?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, I never thought you’d think of me after I left.”

“I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.” He sips his drink and his mouth forms the familiar Wentz sneer/growl, something to put distance between them. “Gabe. Tell her I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Gabe turns the seat on the other side of her and straddles it, folding his arms over the back and resting his chin on his forearm. “He’s not that much of an asshole.”

“Do you always do his bidding?” she asks with a smile. She and Gabe had hung out a few times after she’d left. Friendly enough, one time a little more than friends. She’d taken Pete out on him, and he’d let her. She’s still not sure if he did it for her sake or because he wanted to. She’s too afraid to ask though, because her ego’s not quite up to the blow it would be if he only tolerated it. Her.

“Not in the slightest. Usually he does what I tell him. We just let everyone think he’s my puppet master.” He leans back to move his hands in an impression of Geppetto. “You’re looking good, by the way.” 

He winks at her, overdramatic and lascivious. She rolls her eyes. “Coming from someone with your questionable taste, Saporta, I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment.”

“Ouch. Ouch. You wound me.” He stands up and turns around slowly, arms out to the sides. “I’ll have you know that I am currently the height of sartorial perfection.”

“Yeah, not too shabby.” She doesn’t say anything about dating Erin being good for him. She’s not sure how badly that one ended, but she figures it can’t have been good, considering how in love he seemed. “Of course, even a stopped clock is right twice a day.”

He sticks his tongue out at her and sits back down. She giggles, and it feels so good to be relaxed. No one else is paying attention to them, and both Gabe and Pete are smiling with the offhand affection that she remembers seeing when they were hanging out at Pete’s without any cameras around. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with them, sipping drinks and telling jokes. She has a few stories of her own this time around, and she has Gabe almost on the floor when she tells him about recording with an infamous producer. Pete looks concerned for most of it, but by the end, he’s blinking back tears and his eyes are crinkled with laugh lines.

She doesn’t remember the last time she felt this good. She reaches out and takes Pete’s hand, squeezing it lightly. He stills for just a moment and then he squeezes back, turning his hand so that hers is fitted in his palm. The thrill it sends through her is familiar and a little frightening, especially when she looks up and meets Pete’s eyes. The laugh lines are still there, echoes of his smile, but there’s something in his eyes. Something dark and inviting. Something she recognizes, even though she’s not used to the look on him.

“Let’s go for a ride.” Gabe says softly, his voice suddenly rough and gravelly. The thrill comes again, stronger and hotter. 

“Let’s go downstairs,” she says just as softly. “There are rooms.”

Gabe stands, waiting for her to lead the way and Pete to fall in step behind her. She doesn’t have to look back to see Gabe’s hand in the small of Pete’s back to know it’s there. She can feel it in the pressure of Pete’s fingers against her, his thumb sliding along the low-cut back of her dress. Her breath catches and she has to grab the railing along the stairs to keep her balance. He was always so careful about touching her or, honestly, _not_ touching her that the feel of his skin on hers is like a burst of fire through her blood.

The third floor is relatively quiet. It’s still early, so the party hasn’t really started and the bedrooms are technically for the people who need to sleep it off and can’t be caught falling into their cars. Rumors of a torrid affair far more preferable to another bout of rehab for almost anyone. Even so, no one questions them as they make their way down the hall. A few doors are already shut – not all rumors are rumors, apparently – but there’s a room at the end with an open door and an empty bed. She pauses in the doorway and Pete stops right behind her. 

The three of them stand there in silence, and she can feel the patience. She knows that if she turns around and says no, they’ll walk back to the party and there won’t be any hard feelings. She also knows this isn’t an opportunity she’s going to miss. She takes the last step into the room, turning to look at Pete and smile. “You coming in?”

“Maybe. You know. Unless something else comes along.”

Gabe rolls his eyes and shoves Pete in the room, following him inside and shutting the door behind them. She’s wondered about them. She would never ask, but she did wonder. The way Gabe’s long fingers skirt over the collar of Pete’s jacket and eases it off his shoulders makes her think maybe she knows the answer. Pete sheds it easily and Gabe gives him a little push toward her. 

“Sit down?” He asks it softly enough that she can barely hear him. He clears his throat and the tips of his ears are red, the color moving down to his cheeks. She turns and sits, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs at the knee.

Gabe taps Pete on the shoulder and shakes his head. “This is my job, I think.” He sinks down to his knees and slides her dress up her leg. She’s wearing black stockings and a garter belt, and that earns a nice hum of appreciation from him. Gabe cups her leg at her knee then slides his hand down slowly, his fingers spread over the sheer fabric until he reaches her shoe. There’s a buckle at the ankle and another across the foot, and he undoes them deftly, like a man with practice. 

Next Gabe uncrosses her legs so he can take off the other shoe. She lets him slide them apart, the slit of her dress exposing the strap of the garter as well as her second thigh. “Are you just watching, Pete?” She says it softly, just a hint of amusement, and he looks up, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. “Or are you going to play too?”

“W-what do you want me to do?”

She takes his hand and tugs him down onto the bed next to her. He sits and bites his lower lip and then leans in, breathing against her mouth for a moment before he dares to kiss her. Gabe makes another low hum, leaning in and kissing the inside of her thigh. She gasps in response and Pete makes a small noise, sliding his tongue between her parted lips.

Closing her eyes, she tries to just feel it, but something inside her reminds her who he is, who _they_ are, and she has to open them, just for a minute and look. Make it real. Make sure that it’s really Pete leaning her back on the bed, make sure it’s really her nails looking like slashes of blood on his white shirt, that it’s Gabe rucking her dress up as he pulls her nicest black lace panties down her legs and tosses them over his shoulder.

“Fuck,” Pete breathes, moving closer to her and catching her hand, threading their fingers together as he guides it down onto the bed. He kisses her again and again, and then she’s lost because he kisses like his life depends on it, like it’s everything. 

After a few moments she feels Gabe’s hands back on her legs, rubbing slow paths from the top of her stockings to her knees, his breath fanning against her inner thighs. She spreads her legs further in encouragement and she can hear him laugh as he leans in and licks along the top of her stocking, tongue hot against her bare skin. 

Pete pulls back and looks at her, his lips curved in a smile. “Gabe’s trying to distract you.”

“You going to let him get away with that?” Her voice is husky, thick with want. 

Pete shrugs. “I figure I’ll let him have his moment.”

“Fuck you, Wentz,” Gabe laughs, his breath against her damp skin. She moans softly and then his tongue is against her, licking a long stripe along her swollen lips. She chokes off half-way through the sound and Pete leans in again, still smiling.

“Well.” Pete opens his eyes wide in feigned shock. “Hard to compete with that.” 

He licks at her lower lip and then kisses her again. She gets caught between them, both of them intent on her. Gabe’s tongue slips past her labia and he finds her clit as Pete sucks on her tongue. It’s an overload of sensation, and she feels suspended between them. She slides her legs over Gabe’s shoulders, and he presses closer, his thumb on her clit as his tongue thrusts inside her.

“So beautiful,” Pete breathes, tilting her head so he can burn kisses down her throat. She sees one of his hands snake down and tangle in Gabe’s hair, tugging. She moans softly as Gabe lifts his head, face slick and wet, his eyes hot.

“Condom?” Gabe asks, his voice rough.

“In my bag,” she manages, her voice almost unrecognizable. They’d been a last minute addition, one of the few things actually small enough to fit in the purse that went with this dress, and she’s glad she shoved them in there. Pete kisses her again then pulls away, finding her purse on the floor. She watches Gabe watch him as he gets to his feet between her legs and undoes his slacks.

Pete doesn’t hesitate, just rips open the condom as Gabe pushes his slacks and boxer-briefs down. There’s a hitch in Gabe’s breathing as Pete rolls the condom on Gabe’s cock, stroking the hard flesh.

“Wrapping my present for me, Pete?”

“Well, it’s no Grammy.” Pete laughs, ducking the easy swing Gabe takes at his head.

“Fuck you,” Gabe says as he grasps the base of his cock and guides it to rub against her wet skin, teasing her for a few minutes before he pushes in. “You’re about to see the ‘Best Performance by a Duo’.”

“O-oh,” Bebe gasps, arching up as he fills her. She reaches out, catching Pete’s hand. “Think...o-oh. I think you mean b-by a g-group.” She tugs Pete closer, pulling him back on the bed. She finds his mouth, clinging to him as Gabe grasps her hips, thrusting deep.

Pete’s hand settles on her breast, sliding beneath the fabric of her dress and inside her bra. His hand curves around her, her nipple rubbing against his palm until he shifts his grip and captures it between his thumb and two fingers, squeezing lightly.

Bebe’s hips and breath both stutter in response, changing the speed and depth of Gabe’s strokes. She cries out softly, one hand tangling in Pete’s hair while the other slides between his legs, rubbing his cock through his slacks.

“Fuck. Fuck, Bebe,” he gasps, pressing into her palm. She squeezes and he imitates her, almost pinching her nipple. She bites his throat, teeth sinking into his damp skin, the heat of his pulse against her tongue. 

Gabe makes a low noise and his fingers dig into her hips, no doubt leaving bruises that will match her dress. She comes at the thought, her body clenching tightly around him. Gabe keeps moving, fucking into her orgasm. She fumbles with Pete’s zipper until she finds skin and starts stroking him in earnest. Her nails catch the flat plane of flesh of his abdomen as she tightens her grip.

Pete’s breath catches in his throat as he fucks into her hand, panting damp and warm on her skin. “God, Bebe. Fuck. Yes.”

She echoes him, panting out Gabe’s name when she can get enough air. Gabe pushes deep and she comes off the bed, legs locked around his waist as he comes again. He’s sweating, hair clinging to his face. He reaches out and touches Pete’s back and then she feels both of their orgasms at once, Pete’s come filling her fist in the same pulsing rhythm as Gabe buried inside her.

She lies there, eyes closed and body tingling, just feeling. She hisses softly as Gabe eases free of her, canting her hips up in an afterthought to the mess they’ve made.

Pete is next to her, solid despite the fact that he’s one of the most fragile people she knows. Fragile and strong all at once.

“Here,” Gabe says quietly, offering both her and Pete washcloths. Pete rolls onto his back, easing out of grip, to clean himself up. She wipes her hand and then holds it out to Gabe who helps her to her feet.

“Not too bad,” he assures her as he looks her over. “Needs a little bit of dry cleaning.”

She rolls her eyes at him and goes into the adjoining bathroom to actually clean up, snagging her panties off the floor on the way.

They’re wet and cold, so she stuffs them in the trash as a lost cause. With a little straightening, her stockings are in good shape, though her hair and make-up have both seen much, much better days. She bites her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth. It’s swollen and sore, and she tries to memorize how she feels at that moment, store it somewhere safe inside.

When she walks back into the bedroom, Pete and Gabe are both dressed, leaning on the dresser with Pete leaning against Gabe. She can see the question in his eyes, but she’s not sure she knows what he’s asking or if she has any answers for him.

“I think if the Grammy’s were actually like that, they’d have the highest ratings ever.”

Gabe smiles and Pete laughs. “They’d have to show ‘em on Skinemax.”

“HBO is classier,” Gabe says. “Or Showtime.”

“Right,” Pete nods, drawing the word out. “Because we’re all about class.”

“We are,” Gabe huffs. “Which is why we’re going to go downstairs, steal Miss Bebe here along with some champagne, and take them home with us.”

“I bet Jay and Beyonce have cooler stuff than champagne.”

“True,” Gabe agrees. “But I don’t actually want to piss Jay-Z off. Do you?”

Bebe rolls her eyes. “Do you guys actually need an audience? Or am I superfluous at this point?”

“You are never that,” Pete tells her, and it feels good, even if it doesn’t heal all the wounds. “I mean, you’re definitely super.”

“But not fluous.”

She shakes her head and laughs. “Better make it two bottles of champagne if I have to put up with jokes like that.”

“Two bottles for the lady. I’ll grab those. Pete, why don’t you two go get the car?”

Pete hands her her purse from where one of them had set it on the dresser as Gabe ducks out in search of alcohol. They walk downstairs together, silence thick between them until they get outside to wait for the driver to respond to Pete’s text. 

“I’m sorry.” He says softly. She cuts him a quick glance and he nearly chokes when he tries to clarify himself. “Not about tonight. God. No. Just...about before.”

“It wasn’t just you.”

“Maybe not. But it was partly me. Mostly me. And I’m sorry.”

She nods. “Thank you. That actually means a lot.” The headlights flash through the foliage like glitter, like stars. “I’m sorry too.”

“It all worked out okay though, right?”

She can tell how much he needs to hear it and, to be fair, nothing can be changed now. She’s not sure she’d change her life if she could. “Yeah. We did okay.”

He nods as the car pulls up, glancing toward the doors to look for Gabe. “You guys should do something together.”

Bebe giggles. “Pretty sure we just did.”

“No! I mean...well, yeah. And it was really hot, so you should definitely do that again. But I mean on his CD. His new thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You sing. He sings. I produce.”

“And,” Gabe comes up between them and wraps an arm around both of them, a bottle of champagne in each hand. “The three of us will make beautiful music together.”

Bebe groans. “Please. Tell me there’s some way to make him stop doing that?”

Pete shrugs. “If there is, I haven’t found it yet.”


End file.
